Survivors
by Tenebrus
Summary: Lost in Yonkers and I Never Saw Another Butterfly crossover. How can two survivors learn to pick up the pieces after WWII?


(A/N: This is fanfiction from two very obscure plays, "Lost in Yonkers" and "I Never Saw Another Butterfly." You can probably have read only one or seen only one to understand this. Please r/r, por favor. Much love!)

* * *

**Survivors  
**Tenebrus

He had called down, and the young woman from room service had come and gone. She didn't look to be any more than twenty, but she was lovely, save the sunken eyes and the shallow, polite smile. She did not speak. Louis Kurnitz watched her go with an uncharacteristic look on his face. After Guadalcanal, very little touched him – even less than when he had been living with his mother, or around Harry and the boys. But something about the way this little service girl pulled down her left sleeve to hide the number tattoo…

Something about her seemed as strange as he. And he liked that.

After he ate, he fastened his shoulder harness and slipped on his jacket and fedora, then stepped outside for a turn around a few blocks. It was strange to be in New York again, especially in the city, a ways away from Yonkers. The streets seemed so familiar and yet, something had changed. After the army, old haunts seemed sordid and dank. They smelled of homemade whiskey and blood and urine. Things he couldn't remember noticing before. He became sick in an alley, and when he was done, he returned to the hotel.

* * *

She came again the second day, when he called down for a soda and a coffeecake. This time, her eyes lingered on him for a moment, and she gave a shyer smile than the one before, then retreated without a word. He wondered if she spoke English. She didn't seem German, because he _knew _German. She walked with a music mama never had.

For a moment, he considered a great many things. He could get a job, but doing what? All the old laundry and then his Honorable Discharge pension were alright, and the Medal of Honor and the Purple Hearts could be hocked if he got into any trouble. There wasn't much he was suited for but shooting and retail. And he hated retail. And the little room service girl wouldn't approve of shooting anyone. Besides, he had had enough of that.

Then he thought about visiting anyone. Eddie and the boys were down in Jersey now, and Mama and Bella and Gert were all in Yonkers, and he could take the train up and say hello. That he was still alive. But the letters, he supposed, were enough for now. He didn't want to hear anything about Bella and her crazy ideas or Eddie and his good luck until he had something to contribute. And what would mama say about staying in a hotel in the city? Maybe he would see if she would let him come home until he could find somewhere to live.

The thought of leaving the coffeecakes and the room service girl bothered him, so he went to sleep in the hotel again.

* * *

The next day was Saturday, and when he called down to room service, someone new came up. He suspected as much. The little service girl's numbers gave her away, and her big brown eyes and soft chestnut hair under her babushka. She was having Shabbat, and he should too. He felt relieved and disappointed all in the same moment.

There were no candles to light that evening, and he ate his meal without prayer. He missed her terribly. He would stay again until he could see her.

He had gone to Guadalcanal to learn to feel.

He wandered around in the dark for hours that night, and finally fell back into the room at one.

* * *

She came up the next day, very promptly after he called. She looked down, pulling on the sleeve of her shirt. He could tell that she was still there while he ate. Though she was quiet, he could feel her. It was comforting. He didn't want to look up for fear of chasing her away, and her eyes on his scarred cheek was enough.

She smiled before she left the room. He could tell.

That evening, he took a shorter walk and returned to call down for dinner. She came again, and this time, he caught her eyes and refused to let go. When she blinked, she left the room blushing.

* * *

On Monday, Louis was in love.

He woke up that way, and the first thought was if mama would like her. Reality caught up with him and he thought about her name. What could it be? It was entirely strange; she didn't seem American or German or anything, and he couldn't exactly pinpoint what she was. A butterfly, perhaps. When her dark hair caught the light in a certain way, he noticed at breakfast, it was red. He spent the day thinking about her. When he walked this time, he stopped in a few stores, looking at women's jewelry. Several people asked if he was shopping for his lady, and he answered, maybe tomorrow.

He returned, empty-handed, in time for her to bring up dinner. After she glided out of the room, he realized that he had never called for room service that evening. He smiled.

* * *

He thought he saw Harry the next day, and spent his time roaming in circles until he realized it was just another chump with another tacky tie. Probably a banker, or something. Who would have a tie like that, anyway? Maybe he missed them and was seeing things.

When he came back to the room, she was leaving it dejectedly. For the first time, she spoke, scolding him for being late in a heavy Polish accent. He apologized, and invited her back in. She declined, saying she had left his dinner on the bed for him.

Louis Kurnitz, he said.

I know, she said.

There were also some letters. They had been on the floor, but the girl had put them on the table for him. He ate as he read. The first was from someone from the army, asking him where he was and what he was up to, you old dog. The second was from Eddie and the boys, telling him that they were glad to hear from him. The third was from Bella, in tilted, broken handwriting, telling him she loved him in one loopy sentence. He replied the same way to each, and then went to sleep.

* * *

He dropped the letters at the post office, and started to look for something to do. He never had to work again, with the compensation from the army, but he was becoming restless. He even entertained asking the girl about any openings in the hotel. As the sun began to set, he walked home. He hadn't brought his gun and he didn't like the thought of being out after sunset without one. Old habits.

When he got to the hotel, he was on time for dinner. She nodded at him approvingly. She joked about being his mother. He said that she was nothing like his mother. Raja Englanderova, she said, looking down. A pleasure, he said.

She left and he recalled that she was one of the only pretty girls he had met before going to bed with her.

* * *

On Thursday, it had been a week since he had met her. He filed a few applications for some shops, and settled down with a book, wondering what it really was that he wanted to do with his life. The only thing that came to mind was a little black satchel, and he removed that from his thoughts. The only thing mama had ever said to be was strong. What would she think now?

Raja came up with dinner, and he asked her to stay. She sat, watching him eat. He tried to make conversation. She didn't know much English. He spoke in German. She spoke back, but flinched a little at some of the words. He asked her where she had been, and she said Therezin. She asked him, and he said Guadalcanal. He said that she was lucky. She said that he had been too. Her eyes were silent throughout the conversation.

He asked her to Shabbat dinner before she left. She said she would think about it.

* * *

He found work at the jewelry store around the hotel, and he knew that he was only suited for handling money and guns. He told them that he could guard the store or work retail, and they, untrusting, said that they needed both. He told them his last name was Smith.

She met him for dinner, and they made small-talk, half in German and half in English. He taught her some words that she didn't know in both. They didn't ask each other about the Japanese or the Nazis, but only about the Jewelry store and the Hotel. Behind their eyes were the questions and the answers. She pulled down her sleeve to hide her number tattoo.

* * *

He went to work anyway. He didn't want them to know what he was, and mama had never celebrated the Shabbat on Saturday when he had lived there. He didn't want Raja to know, however, and he hurried home to meet her with a ring in a velveteen box in his pocket.

She was lighting the candles in the room when he got there, and she looked up with a smile on her face that was neither hollow nor despairing. The candlelight brought out the circles under her eyes and he loved her anyway. She had been through what mama had, and she was nothing like mama.

She didn't seem surprised when he nonchalantly handed her the ring, but she scolded him anyway for doing something so rash on God's day. He only smiled back at her with a wink. We are survivors, he said, and we have to learn to work fast.

She winked back as she slipped on the ring. She said the prayer and they ate in comfortable silence. After dinner, they talked all through the night, about war and about creation.


End file.
